7_4

For the rest of the day, they checked each house along Church Street. Many complained, but the sight of several heavily armed men was enough to keep most people quiet.
They found many interesting tools, hammers and the like, but nothing which accurately fit Doctor Farrell’s description of the murder weapons. Nor was there any sign of Jack Kirby.
As the sun sank quickly down the grey sky towards the horizon, they made their way back to Bailey’s place, where they found Stokes sitting outside, examining the sheep’s head. Seeing his look of concentration, de Hogue stopped as the others filed past into the house.
“What is it?” he asked.
Stokes held up the head which he had severed from the body.
“Look at this, it doesn’t quite fit.” He traced the bite marks with his finger. “There are two lines here, and two here, but they don’t sit right. It’s as if the creature had a crooked bite.”
“I don’t understand” de Hogue took the head and examined it. At first he couldn’t see it, but then he realised what Stokes was saying. The upper jaw marks were not aligned to the lower jaw. The skull was still intact and had not been distorted but the bite marks were all wrong. He turned the head this way and that, ignoring the dark sticky blood which ran thickly from it, but it still didn’t make sense. Finally he passed the head back and stood up.
“Its odd.” He admitted.
Stokes dropped the head into a sack and stood clapping the dirt and dried blood from his hands.
“Very odd” he agreed. “I have no idea what sort of a beast we are searching for here. I’ve hunted lions, tigers, jaguars and bears and I’ve seen caribou eaten by wolves… and I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“So you don’t think it’s a wolf then?” de Hogue asked
“Good God no.” Stokes almost laughed. “Wolves usually only hunt in packs, and they leave plenty of marks behind them. No single lone wolf would have inflicted the kind of damage that brought down those two people in the chapel basement.”
“Then what?” de Hogue asked.
Stokes peered at him in the gathering twilight.
“Your guess is as good as mine. The only creatures that so far fit all the clues belong in the realm of the supernatural.”
De Hogue remembered McKee’s dragon, and snorted in derision, “Surely you’re not saying we’re facing some monster which needs a crucifix and a silver bullet to be killed?”
“I’m saying I don’t know” Stokes replied. He picked up the sack containing the remains of the sheep and made his way around the house to the garden.

After a hurried dinner of fish stew, the six men set out that night, all armed to the teeth and staked out three more fields.
In the village, nothing moved. Every house was closed up and locked, and the pubs were quiet.
Fred Hampton had gone to sea but in his back room, his wife, with Meg Tyler and Abigail Fisher sat on the floor forming three parts to a four part circle. Emily Tyler sat in the fourth space, looking both nervous and excited.
She had long waited to be included into her grand mother’s secrets and now finally she was being allowed to take part.
All four women were naked, and they sat, cross legged facing a small carved stone in the centre of their circle.
“Oh Mother of all” Meg began to speak in a low tone. After each sentence she paused and the other three repeated her words.
“Bring your wisdom to us and help us in this time.”
“Bring your wisdom to us and help us in this time.”
Meg glanced down at the small statuette of the fat women, her tiny arms over her opulent breasts. Silently she pleaded to it for help.
“Help us to understand. Help us to overcome this evil.”
“Help us to understand. Help us to overcome this evil.”In the dark, the four women prayed to their mother goddess. In her heart, Meg Tyler prayed for revenge.